Through the Heart of a Love Story
by Farnbil
Summary: When I was little, my father took me to see Demacia's rose garden. There I met Fifi, a local girl my age. We played games among the flowers every time I visited. Fate always had us meet at the same time, same place, and we remembered each other's names as if only days had passed. One day we both got lost during a game of hide-and-seek, and we never saw each other again. Until now.
1. Back from the barracks

June 3rd

I wish the Demacian army had taught me how to write a diary.

My name is Amatea Dufarj. I am the twenty year old Captain of the Demacian Border Guard, and I have never maintained a personal diary past the age of fourteen. I live on the eastern bank of the Serpentine River, where it sweeps toward Demacia and the Bubbling Bog. The region is a homogenous marshland all around, save for the river. Hard, firm earth is scarce. Most of the landscape remains as it did before Demacian occupation. Soft peat blankets everything past my property. Prison workers drained some of the bog many years ago, but they never got the job done. My father planted our house on the most recently drained plot. He built it when he married mother, before I was conceived. He liked the early morning fog, and the preference rubbed off on me.

I call the place a house, not a home, because my true home is with the Wanderer Company stationed on the other side of the river. The barracks are sometimes visible from my cottage; small mason buildings that always let in a draft during winter. The cold season near the bog is unbearable. A ten day's ride northeast, assuming you avoid the Howling Marsh along the way, is the icy Freljord.

My mother lives in the capital, due south. On any other Monday I would have sent her money. But I'm riding first light tomorrow. Right now, I'm staying the night to finish preparing. Stop and go visits to my house are the norm.

I can't believe my hair still looks alright, even after such an extended lull in my regular grooming. I stepped in front of a mirror for the first time in a week and trimmed it.

Earlier today, on the way to my house I stopped by the home of Pvt. Vyland and his wife Freya. Vyland is a man of no mystery. He is honest, diligent, but a total scatter-brain. With a spear in hand, he could punch through the trunk of a tree. Among the men under my command, he stands out as being the most ravenous eater.

We talked for an hour or so over tea. Somehow the conversation ended on me not being married. It's not like I want to end up a spinster! I...just haven't found anyone yet. I work too much to just settle down and search. Of course, it didn't go exactly like that.

""I feel like I've known you forever, yet we've just met!" said Freya on the tail-end of my story about how Vyland got lost by circling his tent three times while looking for a pair of boots. "I just hope we don't share the same taste in men. Vyland is such a klutz!"

"He's the deadliest and most proficient klutz that ever served the Wanderers" I replied, giving my best impression of an old gruffly general.

Freya and Vyland laughed. "Speaking of men" Freya spat out between heaves of laughter, "what do you like in a man?"

"Like what?" She caught me flat-footed, and I tripped over my line of thought. "Y-you mean my subordinates?"

That pretty much sums up my nonexistent love-life. Nearly all the men I know, I've met through the army. And I outrank most of them! How awkward would it be to have a superior officer make advances on a subordinate? Ugh!

During the barbarian raids, I was really close to doing just that. Joe Pasture was humble, but the kind of humble that shows itself outwardly as noble. Even though I'd always get riled up in the heat of things, he'd be on the reply of my every order with an endearing little "Always there for ya!" I'd outright abandon my rank and fortune to hear his voice again.

And no way would I just fall for anyone with an alluring voice and a strut! He could bandage a wound better than any of our trained doctors. He knew the family of everyone in the company two generations back. He was one of the few men under me who noticed when I did my hair differently, or when I brandished a different blade, or noticed what I saw when I looked out on the horizon. He noticed when I held back tears from the rest of the company. And he'd try his damnedest to brighten me up with a smile. We lost some great men and women like Joe Pasture during the Freljord conflict.

Great. Now I can't sleep. Thanks, diary. Perhaps this isn't such a fantastic idea after all.


	2. On the way to the city

June 4th

I'm sleeping in the Marlboro inn, my last stop before making a straight ride to the city. Representing the law around these parts, I did my best not to get in any trouble with the rough types passing through. The effort didn't come without a close call or two. I had to break up at least one bar-fight. A band of mercs from the Ironspike Mountains gathered themselves around the hearth. Among them I saw Porfry, the kindly slow-spoken sell-sword who helped us fight off the barbarians. "Amatea! Come here and help me drink this ale!"

I asked him "Porfry! Is that your white charger hitched outside?"

During the conflict he mused about the horse he'd buy after killing so many barbarians. We paid him by the hour and he was good at it.

"Yes, that horse is mine. Her name is Darya" said Porfry, his voice gurgling like a hearty stew on the fire. "She is a brave horse. I am traveling to see my lady friend in the next town. Sweep her off her feet and go see Piltover.

I couldn't help but be visibly jealous when I said "How romantic! You'll be her knight in shining armor."

"You are enough of a shining knight yourself, Amatea. But what man yearns to be swept off his feet? To be tripped up in battle means death, you know! Haha!"

"Real funny Porfry." I slumped over the table and reached for a mug.

So that's how he started our little exchange on the lonely human heart. "Tell me, what do you find in her, uh...I forget her name. It's been so long."

He gave me a slanted look, far from tipping into a glare. "Her name is Swan. Do not feel bad for forgetting the name. I will never grow tired of saying it. What do I find in her? She is, eh, beautiful and docile." Slyly, he leaned back and said "That question makes me think you are desperate, Amatea."

I came out explicitly. "Yes, Porfry. I am. Kind of desperate for love, or romance, or, uh, at least a date. I've felt more alone than ever. Being a captain...it sort of pushes everyone away on a personal level. Sure one of my subordinates let me in for tea the other day, but the affair was nothing but awkward."

It felt really good to let my angst bleed out like that, real slow, in front of Porfry. But at the same time I was really embarrassed. He'd never seen this side of me before. I gave Porfry a job interview to fight with the Wanderers, and I tried being a real stoic hardass. Now he knows for sure it was an act.

"I mean it's like I'm afraid of all the men in Wanderer company. And that's saying a bunch. They're the closest thing to family I have. The debacle up north with the barbarians and Freljord waned off long ago. We're all on a mandated vacation, you know. Everybody's gone their separate ways."

Porfry sort of flashed a frown. At that point I hunched like a gargoyle over the table. I just wanted him to hear it, and I was about to say as much. But he talked before I could finish.

"Swan used to say this, before we fell in love: 'Love is always in the air. One needs only to breathe.' I was so moved by these words. Maybe you too, eh? So lift your head and make your spine straight."

I had to smile. "Those are some pretty words, Porfry. Your girlfriend is nothing short of a poet." I obliged him, sitting up and taking in a deep breath. I didn't smell love in the Marlboro Inn today.

Then we switched subjects. Porfry told me about the breeder from whom he bought his horse. I stopped drinking (but had a good time regardless) and retired some hours after sundown. Despite all the stops I've made, I'm making good time toward Demacia.


	3. Recalling my childhood

June 5th

The capital is as big and grand as the day I first entered her big steel gates 15 years ago with mother and father. The city is very bright under the sun. I can't turn my head without running into some glare from a white concrete pavilion or a bug shiny dome. Humungous domes. Four story buildings as wide as they are tall. With working bathrooms! I'm still awestruck, even when nothing's changed from then to now.

Exploring the city today, I revisited places that touched me as a child. The café, where father bought me my first taste of coffee, is still there. The garden, where father told me how he proposed to mother next to a wall of hanging poinsettias, grows the same flowers. I found the spot near the roses where I always played 'grown-ups' with a particular city girl named Fifi. No matter how much time passed in between our excursions to the city, we would always somehow meet each other at the same time, same place, and we'd remember our names like it had only been a day. Fifi must have been a pet name. I haven't met anyone with a name like that.

Mother is doing fine. She enjoys her book-learning with the hextech scientists from Piltover. Our forge, where mother lives, is in the commercial district, between a cheap inn and an apothecary. The most striking thing about this two-story stone mushroom of a building is how the chimney loops around the domed roof like a coiled snake, expelling puffs of black smoke out the top. The ground floor is all storefront. I never liked stocking its racks of swords and horseshoes because I was prone to misplace things

When I first sat down with mother in six months, she gave me a tiny metal box that sparks and burns oil to make a flame. "I surmise you'll find benign applications for this instrument" she said over lunch. "We call it a 'lighter'. It's a popular device among the gentry in Piltover. Take care not to burn your hands."

"Did you make this, mother?" I asked.

"It was a collaborative effort between me and the crew. Your excursions out into the wild are too frequent not to hold a lighter on your person." She produced another lighter from the pocket of her work-pants, lit it, and blankly watched the tiny flame flicker close to her spectacles. "We've moved so far ahead of flint and stone, hm?"

She had to explain to me how to use it, but the method is much simpler than the mechanism. All you have to do is flip open the top and poof! Fire! Mother has a knack for machinery, and I let her show it off to me. We really do value our time together. As a normal family, we've much time to make up after the barbarian raids.

I told her about my romp around the city. I've thought so much of father, all the things that had happened and what he might think of me. Sitting in mother's well-kept study, I admitted "I miss him so much; it's unhealthy."

Mother reached into her mahogany desk to dig for something. "These sentimental gyrations are mutual, Amatea. But for myself, less frequent. I find solace...and distraction in probing the earth's scientific mysteries. Because you've been away from active service, the idle mind dwells on unpleasant things."

When she said that, mother presented me with a letter from the army, as they knew I'd be visiting her. I am to report to the nearby barracks for a council on winding down operations in the Freljord. It's about time they've caught up to the situation. Wanderer Company got the orders to back off months ago, and everyone's better off for it. Still, perhaps I don't have the big picture in mind. I'll be ready to go back into that frozen hell if they will me to.

Captain Fiora Laurent will come representing the City Guard! I follow the League of Legends only because of her, the best and prettiest fencer in Demacia! If you look at the kind of swords all those other champs lug around, they're all gargantuan! And that's not mentioning the rest of the champions! It's nice to know that a rapier can compete. She keeps her cool composure even when staring down giant crocodiles and spider legged robots, and I admire that.

And I get to meet her in the flesh! I'm so excited; I might rush to meet her right this instant! I want to shake her hand and say 'Captain Laurent! It's an honor!'

There are many men in my company who'd be jealous if I told them I had a date with Fiora Laurent. I may or may not take some slight pleasure from the fact. I like to think myself above that.

I'm so off topic! Tomorrow the army is discussing troop withdrawals from the Freljord. Official business! That means keep your hands to yourself Amatea!


	4. Fiora at the barracks

Good day, June 6th!

I woke up early to find a tailor that could fix my uniform, then hurried to the big fancy barracks on the edge of the city. After the meeting, I spent time at the café filling out paperwork.

Quinn led the assembly under massive stained glass windows depicting the Crownguard family crest. She set up a map of Northern Valoran bigger than my bed sheets, crowded with numbered dots. Her bird, Valor, sat perched right next to me and nibbled my hair. Those two know more about the Freljord and its people than any officer in this army. She has a plan to settle things quickly in the region, and I like it.

I'd rather not write what the exact plan is, lest a spy gets hold of my journal. What it means for me is that I'm staying in the capital for longer than I anticipated. Most of us are rotating out of active duty, including me and Fiora Laurent.

Some people are proud to a fault. No amount of idolatry can blind me from the fact that Fiora Laurent is one of those people. Gosh, I didn't expect her character to be perfect...okay I kind of did. Kick me. I set myself up for a letdown.

She was so difficult to talk too. Like we all know she's the best in the army at fencing. But that doesn't mean it's nice for her to belittle everyone attending the council! "You do not work hard enough!" she said to a marshal from Aegis Company after the council. "Why do you not even make an effort?"

Things like that she says at every opportunity. The atmosphere around the meeting room didn't give her a good spot to yell too much at all, but elsewhere I hear Fiora nonstop, vehemently lecturing other officers like a pastor.

So insufferable!

But Captain Laurent is deserving of all her pride, no doubt. I think she's just misguided. Like her ego is just maybe a shell? I could be wrong.

And once, after a biting talk to one of the younger guys from a base in Ionia, she put on a certain smile and looked into his eyes. "This hurts me as much as it hurts you, friend." I was very much comforted by that smile. It was so genuine, and I can't get it out of my mind all day.

We planned another gathering for tomorrow. The Crownguards are hosting a dance for all the visiting officers. I'm going to try warming up to Miss Laurent and figuring out the kind of person she is.


	5. When we first talked

June 7th

This entry will be long. The best night of my life deserves as much.

Setting off at around noon, I walked on foot because I couldn't afford a carriage. Soon I met up with two brothers, one Major, one Lieutenant and their wives, all younger than I am. The eldest sibling, Cpt. Morgan Lenon, wore a sash bearing a heavy load of medals and honors. Lt. Owen Lenon, the younger, also had his sash.

"This is for that void portal thing in Uristan two years ago" said Morgan, pointing to a small baby-blue shield badge. "Every soldier that was left alive got one." That was a nasty one, I hear.

When we arrived at the Crownguard Estate, all the men and women in uniform had their honors like the Lenon brothers. I felt so self-conscious about my lacking of badges.

Not only that, there was dancing to be enjoyed and I hadn't brought a partner! Luckily I found a friend of my late father, old honest Gawayn. He's a self-taught fencing legend with a record to rival that of Fiora and her father. He achieved his greatest victory in his early youth-at 21 years old he defeated Fiora's father three times in a row before he tore his left tendon while lifting a crate of pomegranates, before he could ever join the long list of those left victim to a now infamous cheater. He looked as old as he did last time I saw him. And his beard was just as short and trimmed too.

"Oh hello Sunny! Did you miss me?" he said with a soft gruff, like an old dog sighting his master.

"Gawayn!" I returned, hugging him tightly. "I'm so glad to see you! Yes, it's been too long!"

The music started before we could talk more. Both of us lit up at the sound of strings and bustling. Giddying with more enthusiasm than warranted, I asked him in concern "Are you fit for a dance?"

Gawayn smiled back, defiant to his old bones. "Are you fit to keep up, child?"

We danced a jig that almost all the enlisted men and women know. When officers host parties for their men, it's tradition to teach them the steps. It's called "Menagerie", more of a round-about game than anything. When you watch it happening, it looks like a bout of musical chairs without the chairs. Super fun!

Gawayn and I were out of breath by the end, as were the rest of the participants. I think I got to lock arms with Luxanna Crownguard a few times during the dance. Strange to say, yes, but I think we have exact the same laugh. Her brother isn't one for dances, unfortunately. What a shame,

Gawayn and I took places at the bar and caught up with each other. He's been taking it easy in a cottage in the countryside with his wife.

War stories were the topic of our exchange. I knew he could relate on a personal level because he served in the Royal Navy for twelve years, ending his career as an admiral only 5 months earlier. War is in his blood.

And then Fiora showed up behind Gawayn to talk to him. Immediately I sat up on my stool and prepared myself for a scolding. Her force of personality does that to people. It's the kind of feeling when you suddenly realize your leg is bleeding after getting grazed by a musket minutes after the fact.

"Good afternoon Admiral Gawayn" she started. "It's an honor to have you."

Gawayn swiveled around to stand up and shake her hand. "Well met, Miss Laurent. How's the shoulder?"

"I am in top-shape, thank you." She looked at me. Her uniform was tight and snug around her body. Fiora's body complements the Demacian colors. Gosh, I wish I had her thighs. I'm not self-conscious of my body, but I won't deny myself the pleasure of dreaming. "And Captain Amatea, is it?"

I got up and saluted her. "Yes ma'am. From Wanderer Company" Gosh I was so nervous! I wanted to keep my cool and sound like I wasn't intimidated. But I couldn't. Humiliating, especially for a captain!

"A pleasure to see you again" she said tersely. "Gawayn, do you remember our last bout of swordplay last week?"

The old man laughed a little. "You held up somewhat better than the Shurmian sultans I crossed swords with during my treasure-hunting days. Amatea here knows that story."

"I have dwelt on it for some time, and I think I will do as you suggested." Fiora sat herself on the stool next to him. "It is time for a new blade. But Shepard, my old supplier, passed away two weeks ago, and I can't find any smiths not under an exclusive contract..."

From that point, I had that sinking feeling that the conversation would eventually lead to my father being a great blacksmith, and me being his apprentice. And when the question came up, I laid out the answer with more confidence than I'd ever had while in Fiora's presence.

"My father and I have a history in the trade" I told them. "I had connections with Django before both of us joined the army. He was at that void portal thing in Uristan and didn't make it back. But we get by with a military contract."

"Django had promise" Fiora mused. "I miss him as my kin." She pulled back her hair and widened her eyes which had turned steely earlier. "But I digress. You have a forge?"

"Kind-of. It's at my mother's house." I said without thinking. Half a second later, embarrassment punched me in the gut. But before I could start panicking, Gawayn stepped in.

"She has that utilitarian quality in her work, like Doran. You don't find it in Demacia's weapons these days." I have to wonder: did he mean before or after the accident that crippled him?

Fiora looked into my eyes and let on a disconcerting, piteous smirk. "You would go so far as to endorse this girl, admiral? So be it. I am in an adventurous mood." Her hand curled around a glass of white merlot while her eyes didn't leave mine. As an officer, I should be used to this much singular attention, but Fiora has those eyes! Augh!

"So I'm to make you a foil?" I asked.

Fiora took a sip of the merlot. "More than that. I want to see it happen. I make it a habit to refresh my understanding of your trade every now and again. It is no bother to you?"

"Of course not!"

"Fantastic. Before you go slaving over an anvil, I must get to know you better."

I must have been drinking heavily, because everything after that was a blur. Like I remember what I heard, just not what I said. She likes gardening, arithmetic, and romantic songs. She can't stand an out-of-place ascot or feather. She has a favorite spot in the public garden near the roses. Gawayn had to leave early due to his sleeping pattern.

An hour or so passed. The stars were out. I was standing outside on the front steps. Fiora was fixing my ascot. People passed us by or waited some distance away to say goodbye to their hostess Luxanna.

"This was bothering me all night" she said in an uncharacteristically easy tone. "Do not let me catch you with this undone ever again."

I saluted playfully before saying goodbye. Tonight, she was a different person than what I first saw of her. The dissonance is a little scary. I bet it's because she's just more comfortable while off-duty.

We're to meet three days from now. Gosh, I wrote so much tonight! Tomorrow morning will be tough to hit.


	6. A walk past the fountain

June 8th

Today was very strange. I was just walking back from the bakery when all these wild events started happening! Absolutely fantastic!

The storefront of our forge makes the inn and apothecary adjacent look like consignment stores. Every broadsword, horseshoe, lantern, and garden hoe had a place on it's rack. A hanging blue and gold banner, sewn by machine, reads 'Iron Garden metal crafts'. Father came up with the name, and I can't say I don't like it. Across the street is a swan-shaped fountain and a plaza that draws in newcomers and public events. That's where I saw the League champion Ezreal talking with Felgrand the stonemason. Both of them stood alternating their study between a large map in Ezreal's hands and the fountain. I went over to a nearby bench and waited for something to happen, and things always happen around old Felgrand when he's out and about.

Felgrand is an architect and a delver of histories. He had a hand in designing the newer extensions to the capital's second library, and is filthy rich for it. I know him so well because he used to come to me for fabricating spelunking gear, and I'd go with him on dives into the catacombs under the city. One time we found a seven hundred year old stash of halberds used by Demacia's old Inquisition. Most of them ended up in a museum, but I held onto a few pieces for myself, as did Felgrand.

I found him in the middle of making plans with the dashing explorer Ezreal, talking about hidden treasures and, by what I could make out, blowing something up.

"If not that, then what?" sighed Felgrand. "I don't remember my workmen putting any secret nonsense anywhere on the fountain when I was on the job."

Ezreal put a hand over his magic gauntlet thing. "Give me a minute, I want to see for myself." He rolled up the map and walked over to meet the bronze swan, frozen mid-flight. I wasn't at all ecstatic meeting Ezreal in the flesh. Felgrand and I needed to catch up. Besides, the prodigal explorer looked busy.

Felgrand talks with the high-windedness of a teenager, full of ego and righteousness. His face matched the part: big eyes and a smile that could melt glaciers. His public works never open without fanfare: the city rallied the color-guard for the opening of a public bathroom near the west gate. I don't find the affair excessive; it's a pretty good place to put a bathroom. "This Ezreal guy came to me a week earlier asking for, uh, a map of the aqueduct for this here fountain. Who was I to say no, am I right?" I led him to a bench and offered him some bread and cheese.

He told me about some dirt he accidentally dug up on the Laurent family while charting up some genealogy for a friend. "The Laurents have a history of losing, believe it or not. Right when newspapers started to cover fencing as a sport seventy years back, Fiora's forefathers could never top any events. Stories and features popped up occasionally about the infamous curse involving a pair of red socks, and about the one Laurent prodigy that would break the curse. None did, until Fiora's father took up the sword. At least until he was uncovered."

"Do you think Fiora's like that? The underhanded sort?"

Felgrand chewed on bread. "I dunno. Yeah, she nearly ran her old man through to clear her name, but you know what they say about apples and trees."

I was thoroughly irked but didn't show it.

We were talking for a while, maybe five minutes, and Ezreal was still crawling over and around that fountain like a fly on a rotting apple. As I was halfway through a story about a musket and a bathhouse, we felt a deep rumbling underneath our bench. Both of us snapped our heads to find Ezreal reaching into a compartment in the belly of the swan.

"Shit, he found it" muttered Felgrand. I followed him as he ran to the statue and to Ezreal sitting on its edge, soaking wet. "Damnit Ezreal, nobody's supposed to know about my...my..."

Ezreal looked exhausted, emotionally more than physically. Obviously he was let down. "Your...yeah. That."

Felgrand looked about frantically. Nobody was around to even feel the disturbance travel through the earth. "If anyone found out about that, I would never hear the end of it from my boss! Close it! Close it now!"

"I missed a date...with her...for this" grumbled Ezreal.

Instinctively, because I always have to look into things like this, I asked "Who's your date?"

Felgrand turned around, remembering I was still here. He wore a nervous smile. "It's been dandy talking with you, but now I have to clean up this whole mess. Maybe we'll meet some other time."

And with that, we parted. I never got a feel for what others thought of Fiora's credibility until today. Is she really her father's daughter? Is her father a true Laurent? I don't want to make waves by asking this stuff outright to Fiora. At least not yet.


	7. Bruschetta at my house

June 9th

Fiora came over to the shop today. A curious feeling came over me when I saw her for the first time today. It was an easy feeling, like hiking through a familiar trail, where the landmarks guide you better than the map and compass.

Our customer arrived on foot at nine in the morning. I came an hour earlier to take inventory of material. Mother did a very good job of manufacturing coke, a homemade concentrated form of coal. In many ways, our forge is a world apart from the others here in Demacia. No other blacksmith around uses coke to fuel his forge. I've looked around, and not one of them knows what a blowtorch is. If they ever saw me use my pneumatic bolter, I'd get ran out-of-town. But that's the thing with all of my Piltoverian chemistry and gadgets. They kind of unnerve people around here. I don't blame them. These Piltover tools are dangerous.

I showed Fiora around for a quick peek of the forge. She thought I was running a science lab at first. "No bladesmith in Demacia has tools such as these." Fiora said incredulously while eyeing my arc welder.

I got a real ego boost from her comment. Even though fencing was a distant subject, I never thought Fiora was this easy to impress. I thought her so perfect, her ego so justified.

I offered her something to eat, and she accepted, so we made our way into the tiny kitchen in the very back of the shop. Two people can fit comfortably, but more than thee would push some bodies up to the kitchen counter. I threw the bread I got yesterday into the toaster oven (another Piltover gadget) and chopped some tomatoes for bruschetta. Snipping a bit of basil, I asked Fiora about her two siblings.

Abel is the middle brother, a man of passion. He took Fiora's place running the Civil Guard when she rotated out. "He is doing a fine job so far. Just fine. But the clown still does not talk to me unless we cross swords."

Mariane is the eldest sister. She's a school teacher and a colleague of my mother. "Mariane keeps up with her fencing practice, despite her job. I expect no less of a Laurent."

I loaded too much pepper on the bread, but the bruschetta turned out great: tomatoes, garlic, artichoke and mozzarella. The scent of olive oil, garlic and melted cheese lingered about the kitchen while we went out the back into the tiny patio behind the forge.

She knew what specs she wanted for the sword and gave me a drawn diagram while we ate. "I used to have the pommel this much heavier, but I want to change it like so."

Her thumbs must be extremely strong to wield a sword with these specs. I would know; heavier blades are my preference because I spent so much time smashing hammers on molten steel.

"Can you can handle it?" I said, momentarily forgetting Fiora's self-confidence.

Fiora smiled smugly. "You insult me."

When we got to the subject of cost, I quickly learned how much money she has at her disposal. Fiora expected to pay at least 3500 for the blade, so she nearly made a face when I quoted her for 1600. It begged her to question. "Are you playing favorites?"

I had to admit the affirmative. "But I swear the real price is just 2000!" I said in a spurt of panic. She had that smile on, that half-seductive smile that would look creepy on any other face. But it sucked me in with a feeling of excitement. "Honest! This is the second most expensive sword I've done!"

Fiora laughed, then shifted her tone to a stern chiding. "Woman! Compose yourself. Don't say I frighten you!"

"I, uh, well...no."

She got closer and leaned her face into mine. "Tell me what vexes you" she said slyly. Her efforts were deliberate, conscious of the fact that we were far from business and small-talk.

"Do you know the feeling when you haven't talked with anyone for a really long time, and you meet someone new and you really like them, and you want to do everything in your power to make it all work?" I pointed at my face excitedly. "That's what this is!"

She laughed like she just saw a toddler trying to sing an opera, a piteous laugh. "Oh, Amatea, you foolish girl. Are you so lost? I want to see the Amatea I met only an hour ago! The proud blacksmith who makes swords for the legendary Django! The Captain of our Border Guard! And I won't have her reduced to a stuttering wreck because of some anxiety! Show me that girl starting tomorrow!"

Those words invigorated me. I felt like a dark room in my head had been lit. "Yes ma'am! You're coming to see me again?"

"I made time in between training sessions."

Now that was flattering. "Oh, you shouldn't have!"

"Upon your honor and my purse, do not make this a waste of my time." Fiora threatened with a chuckle. "

Our relationship or rather, my affection for Fiora is really complicated, alternating between awe and aversion. I can't take my eyes off of her either way. And she seemed to like me a lot. Her conversation was easy and earnest. We talked about girl stuff in between business. I almost told her the story about my crush in the army. Gotta save it for later.

She left at around noon for a talk with the bank, no doubt looking at numbers larger than I can fathom. When Fiora took the house from her father, that meant she commandeered the finances and assets of the entire family. So much weight on her shoulders.

I'll help Fiora shape the Laurents' future with this sword. Through that vein, perhaps I can see the world through her eyes, those of her ancestors' maybe. Fiora has this vision of perfection in her craft that looks so it's alluring. I don't know, it makes me want to try as hard as she does. That's the strange kind of charisma Fiora has.

Tomorrow will be alright. So much to do, yet so much of it I WANT to do. I have a really nice life.


	8. My First Kiss

I had a dream last night. A memory of my time with Fifi.

I was a child in the flower garden, playing games with Fifi among the roses. We were playing house, trying to make-believe a family. I was the mother, Fifi was the father (because both her name and the word 'father' started with an f.) The first few minutes was just us running about aimlessly, but keeping mind of the bushes and their thorns. At one point, Fifi takes my hand and says "Okay, now we have to make it bona-fied."

"How?" I inquired, finally in the mood to stop and think about what we were doing.

"The first thing we have to do is get married. That's the same thing my parents did before they lived together. I learned it from my nanny."

"How do we do that? Get married?"

Fifi let my hands go and put her finger on her chin in thought. After a short struggle, she found her hypothesis. "I think I have to give you something first. Mother talks about a ring she got from father before they were a family."

"Oh, fun!" I exclaimed while clapping my hands. "Presents!"

Fifi looked around. "I don't have a ring" she said dejectedly.

Luckily I had practiced the skill of making jewelry from the long grasses of the marsh back home, so I suggested we find dandelions and craft a ring ourselves.

After snaking around the lawn, we found a small patch of wild green under a tree. I found enough dandelions to make a circlet to go with the ring and handed them over to Fifi. "You have to do it because you're the father" I giggled.

"Okay. Give me your hand."

I lifted my right hand up, palm down. She put the green ring on my finger, taking care not to smash or tear it. Fifi made her best impression of a princely man. "Will you, Ammy, be my wedded wife?"

"Of course, silly!" I replied.

"Good. Now we have to kiss!"

The many weird rituals and practices adults adhered to always perplexed me, and the act of kissing was one of them. Fifi saw them in a more fascinating light. She emulated everything her parents did, especially her father. "Ew! Really?" I said with a face.

"Yes! Now close your eyes and hold still!"

After thinking about it really hard, I'd say that was my first kiss. It counts despite the circumstances because we cared deeply about one another. However, I wouldn't tell anyone about the event. Imagine that story in a conversation.

I went a little off track. The dream, right.

We kissed. More like a peck. It felt incidental, part of the game we were playing, funny and amusing. But I also felt loved as a friend, to the greatest degree that could be felt by a child.

Father found us giggling together, covered in dandelion jewelry and grass stains. He came up to the little girl I was playing with and asked where her nanny was. Immediately the old woman arrived to pick up Fifi, and both parties said goodbye forever.

At that point I woke up to the sound of a runaway horse cart speeding past my forge. I jumped out of bed, looked out the window, and saw a black blur speed down the dark purple streets. It was 3 o'clock in the morning.

When I lead men through the cold tundras of the north, I told them stories about the rose garden during the summer months. Most of the guys could relate because them grew up right outside the city like me.

This experience is one of the most memorable parts of my childhood. I can't describe in words its impact on my character. Whenever I look back on it, I feel warm and sort of sad, like I do when recalling Joe Pasture, the gentleman I crushed on during my army days.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened today. All that I feel the need to write about is that dream. Work on the sword is going well, and I helped with some of mother's projects in the shop as well.

I want to see Fiora again. Perhaps I could ask her if she wants to go visit the rose garden.


End file.
